


Not Alone

by helens78



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-22
Updated: 2003-10-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For all that Boromir's suspicious of Aragorn's motives, what Aragorn wants most is for neither of them to be alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Alone

_Such a little thing..._

 _So small a thing..._

Only it isn't, and they know it. Aragorn's eyes are like glass as they stare at Boromir, and he feels cut on them. Glass. Ice. Aragorn's eyes are always sharp. Boromir feels them all the time now -- on his back, on his face, as he's trying to take one step at a time over plains and rocks. The only thing keeping Boromir from simply confronting Aragorn is the fact that Aragorn isn't hiding any of it. He's not waiting until Boromir's back is turned to look at him with suspicion; his suspicions are, and have always been, out in the open.

But those looks -- _those_ looks are breaking Boromir, one step at a time, one day at a time. It is one thing to know the rest of the Fellowship doesn't trust him; it's something else entirely to look at himself, reflected through Aragorn's eyes, and know they may be right.

 _What have I done? What have I done that makes me worthy of this kind of suspicion? When have I tried to do anything beyond what is best for my land and my people?_

He should apologize, he thinks. Apologize to Frodo, and Aragorn, and keep breathing, keep walking, keep trying to prove his loyalty to the Ring-bearer, to Gondor, to Gondor's king...

...Gondor's king.

 _And where has he been, all this time?_

Boromir shakes his head, hard, against the bitterness. And he feels Aragorn's eyes on him when he does it.

What Aragorn feels is not suspicion, not exactly. It's concern. Not only for the Ringbearer and the quest; this concern is for Gondor, and the Steward's son.

Aragorn understands the temptation. He doesn't feel it, but he understands it. He knows of Boromir's struggle in protecting his people. He knows Boromir's urge to use the Ring's power is not out of a selfish desire for personal glory, but for the chance to protect his City.

The looks are more sympathetic than Boromir realizes; if Aragorn is hiding anything, he's hiding that.

Day passes day. Night passes night, and after a while, the silences and awkward halts in conversation become more than Boromir can bear. He stalks off alone into the woods and presses his back to a tree, tilting his head up and closing his eyes against the starlight.

 _They don't trust you. They will never trust you. You have lied about nothing, you have hidden nothing, and still they will never trust you._

"...Boromir?"

Boromir jerks upright and looks over to Aragorn. His lip curls before he can stop it. "You again. What shall I do for you? Kneel for you, my _King_? Go to all fours for you so you can use me as your pet?"

Aragorn comes forward and puts his hands on Boromir's shoulders. "This burden weighs heavy on all of us. I think it weighs heaviest on you."

"You think wrongly, then," Boromir murmurs. "It is the ring-bearer whose burdens are greatest. I--"

"--you are alone. As are none of the rest of us." Aragorn leans forward, ever-closer, and Boromir is torn between a desire to turn away and a desire to close the distance. "Let me share your thoughts with you. Your troubles. Your burdens."

"If you and yours cared to share my _troubles_ , _Strider_ , you would have spent your life in Gondor, where its king belongs. Not in the wilds or among the elves."

"I am not your king. I do not wish to be your king. I would offer you my friendship. Any comfort I can give, I will."

Boromir closes his eyes. "You talk in riddles," he murmurs. "Leave me in peace, Strider."

Aragorn rubs a thumb over Boromir's lips. "I do not mean to," he whispers in return. "If my meaning was unclear, let me try again. I would offer you the comfort that men offer one another in darkness. I would offer it to you for your ease, or your pleasure, as you will."

The offer is so startling that Boromir does not know what to make of it. His eyes open and fix on Aragorn's. "Why would you offer this?" He frowns; his hands finally come into motion and settle on the curves of Aragorn's upper arms. "You do not trust me. You do not know me. Why would you want me?"

"You look for hidden meaning in everything, Steward of Gondor," Aragorn murmurs. "You seek motivation where all that exists is want. Desire. Have you not longed for the company of Men?"

Boromir lets out an indignant huff. "The company of men, and women too," he murmurs. "You assume much."

"I assume nothing. But I am offering."

Boromir's indignation has given way to mild reproach. "I had begun to wonder if you even remembered you _were_ a Man," he scoffs.

"I had begun to wonder if you remembered you are not alone."

Boromir's eyes close again. "Why are you doing this?" he whispers. "Will you laugh at me in the morning if I succumb to your attempts at seduction? Will you laugh more if I do not?"

"I am not here to laugh at you at all," Aragorn says, growing more frustrated by the moment. He tightens his hands on Boromir's shoulders and shoves him roughly against the trunk of the tree. Again, Boromir looks at him, and this time Boromir's eyes are not angry, but there is a ferocity to that stare all the same. "When I was Strider, if there had been a moment, an opportunity, if we had known each other for one day without the weight of our quest and my name and your duty between us, what would you have said then? What would you have said if I had offered you my bed and my company?"

"I would have said yes," Boromir whispers, gaze burning into Aragorn. "But we are not there, and we cannot ignore your name, my duty, our quest--"

"I could," Aragorn growls. "I could, if you would let me."

Boromir's hands leave Aragorn's upper arms; one hand cups the back of Aragorn's neck, while the other slides into Aragorn's hair and tugs. Aragorn closes the distance between them and crushes his mouth to Boromir's, tongue sliding in as a rough demand. Boromir meets the demand, and his hands make demands of their own, holding Aragorn closer as he moans against Aragorn's lips.

"No names. No duty. I want you." Aragorn's voice comes out nearly too soft to hear.

"Stop talking," Boromir says. " _Take me._ "

Aragorn's eyes dim, but only for the barest moment. He _does_ want this; there _are_ motivations, there _are_ concerns, and later he will wonder if joining with Boromir settled any of them -- but now it _is_ about wanting, and Aragorn's body is more than willing to prove that his desire is genuine.

Were Boromir thinking, he might feel some relief at the fact that whatever Aragorn's motivations might be, for now there are sparks, and they are equally shared between them. This will not help matters, might even make Boromir resent Aragorn later, but for now, Boromir remembers that he is not alone.


End file.
